


Been A Fool For Lesser Things

by boccardo_syllogism



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Phil being the giant dork we all know he truly is, Romance, seriously guys this is just phil being enthusiastically in love, very very mild angst but basically just A Week In The Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-04-20 11:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14259903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boccardo_syllogism/pseuds/boccardo_syllogism
Summary: Phil and Melinda have finally moved a few steps past platonic and he hasn’t quite stopped vibrating with happiness yet. (It’s kind of amazing Daisy hasn’t been giving him weird looks.) Everything is still very new, but don’t worry: Phil is nothing if not a perfect gentleman.Unfortunately for Phil, he’s also anidiot.Five times Phil forces himself to be a reasonable adult about the situation and one time Melinda gets her favorite dork back.





	1. More Than I Hoped For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melinda leaves.

Phil Coulson has kissed Melinda May. For real. No, really, it was actually her and they weren’t undercover and he wasn’t dreaming and everything. More than once, even. Her lips have touched his on multiple occasions in real life. And - the real miracle - she kissed him back. Needless to say, it takes most of his self-control to restrain himself from actually skipping in glee or high-fiving everyone he sees or just wandering around in a blissful daze. Fortunately Phil is _great_ at self-restraint.

Another thing he’s great at, though, is reading Melinda’s expressions. That is, the ones he’s used to - she’s been letting him see some new ones lately, and he falls even more in love with her every time her face does something he hasn’t seen before. His favorite Melinda expression by far is the one she makes when they break a kiss to breathe, eyes closed and lips parted just a little, color high on her cheeks. Phil’s witnessed a lot of incredible sights over the years, but he’s pretty sure he’ll never find anything as beautiful as that.

(How amazing is his life? _Melinda May_ kisses _him!_ Voluntarily! And seems to _enjoy_ it!)

The expression she’s making right now, however, is one he’s well acquainted with and has been since approximately two days after they met: long-suffering exasperation. In all fairness, he _is_ lurking in the doorway while she’s trying to work on pre-mission paperwork for her current squad of juniors, so it’s not wholly undeserved. But even so.

“Don’t you have something better to do than watch me figure out where to put Fisher and Saito into a standard six-squad?”

“The training of junior agents is of the utmost importance to S.H.I.E.L.D, May,” he tells her very seriously. “The young are the future.”

She rolls her eyes, but then she sighs, and Phil grins because he knows that means he’s won. “If you’re going to stay, at least help me run through these plans for Vancouver.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, so it evens out.”

She’s right, so he gives in with only token grumbling and they work through contingencies until the mission is as sound as possible for a op that’s going to be executed entirely by hapless newbies. It’s not until much later that night, as he’s about to fall asleep, that he realizes what’s going to happen: Melinda is going out into the field for the first time since they admitted there were mutual feelings between them.

Yes, he’s spent his entire career watching her throw herself headfirst into danger and doing his best to patch her up afterwards. It’s just a routine mission that has zero chance of going badly, because they’ve just spent the evening making sure of it. He trusts her implicitly and there’s no one better to kick the newbies’ asses into gear. Phil knows all this.

But now, for the first time in his life, he also knows what it’s like to kiss her as just them, Phil and Melinda, for no reason other than the fact that they want to. It hasn’t happened very frequently, of course, but he kind of thinks it’s the sort of memory that’s so much a part of who he is that not even T.A.H.I.T.I. could erase it, and that’s not something he jokes about lightly. He is Phil Coulson, S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, in love with Melinda May. Those are the core facts of his existence.

But their relationship is still so, so new, and no matter how badly he wants to find her and hold her close so no harm can ever come to her, he can’t. Not just because it’s creepy and insulting to her skill level, but also because Melinda has never been particularly prone to random acts of physical affection. Even before what happened in Bahrain, she’d dumped guys because they were too handsy. Just because he’s loved her for most of his adult life in one capacity or another doesn’t mean he gets some kind of free pass to touch her in every little way he’s ever dreamed of.

Besides, they’re taking it slow so far. It’s been one of the happiest times of Phil’s life, and he wouldn’t trade what they have right now for anything in the world. For some unbelievable reason, she looks at him and sees something she likes. He doesn’t think he’s imagining that her smile is wider than usual these days, either, and Phil will do just about anything to see her smile. If that means biting back some of his more sappy impulses… well, he’s great at self-restraint.

And so, when Melinda returns a few days later with her gaggle of wide-eyed little juniors, dusty and bruised but absolutely, gloriously in her element, he does nothing more than meet them in the hangar for a quick debrief. The juniors burst into a flurry of whispers when they notice him, but she just sets her shoulders and strides up to him.

“Agent Coulson.”

“Agent May,” he answers, doing his best to look appropriately serious. “Anything to report?”

“New intel, actually,” she says, much to his surprise, but the look in her eyes promises that while it’s something he should be aware of, it’s not urgent or the kind of bad that rapidly becomes urgent. That settles him a bit, and she tosses him a data chip. “I’ve already compiled the reports.”

“I’ll look it over right away,” he promises. “Any injuries?”

“Nothing major, but they’re headed to medical anyway just in case.”

It’s only years of experience that keeps Phil’s shoulders from slumping in relief. _They,_ Melinda had said. Not _we._ That means she's fine. She’s right in front of him, back at base and safe and sound, so the relentless stream of worst-case scenarios that’s been clamoring in the back of his head since she left can finally shut up now.

“I won’t keep you waiting, then,” he says, stepping aside so they can pass.

The juniors fall totally silent when Melinda turns to face them. She nods once; they each grab a bag and troop past, single file, in the direction of the armory to return their equipment. When they’ve disappeared around the corner, Phil raises an incredulous eyebrow.

“I like to promote a healthy sense of respect,” Melinda says.

It's honestly a miracle that he doesn't kiss her right there.


	2. Now I Know That Happiness Goes On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are disagreements that cannot be reconciled.

Phil’s not sure what he was expecting to hear as he walks into the smallest but most comfortable lounge on the base, but Daisy’s aggrieved “I need to get _laid!”_ is not it.

“Uh,” he says intelligently.

Daisy’s face is beet red. Phil makes a mental note to stop by the lab and ask how they’re coming along on the brain bleach.

“Calm down, Phil,” Melinda calls from the kitchenette. “She’s just annoyed that she flirted with the guy at the register when she picked up the pizzas.”

“Oh.” He processes this. “Was he cute?”

 _“No,”_ Daisy wails. “He had a real, actual _mullet._ In the 21st century. It was disgusting. He was just the first person I’ve seen in weeks that I don’t work with, and I am not getting involved with a coworker.”

“I don’t know,” Phil says, finally moving into the room, “the coworker idea ended up working out pretty well for me. Though I think I’d call her more of a trusted colleague.” He glances at Melinda, who’s watching him and Daisy and balancing a giant plate of pizza and a steaming cup of tea. She rolls her eyes in disbelief. Phil grins.

“Ugh, no thanks,” Daisy huffs. “I don’t want to take as long as you guys did.”

“As long as who did?” Jemma asks, coming up behind Phil and tugging Fitz with her. “Oh, the pizza’s already here, wonderful!”

“Coulson and May. You know, the couple that met back when dinosaurs were still roaming the earth?”

“At least we’re not so desperate that we’re lusting after random cashiers,” Phil teases, making his way over to the counter with its frankly intimidating stacks of pizza and almost knocking one over when Daisy nails him right in the shoulder with a tiny burst of her powers. She looks totally unrepentant when he turns around to shoot her a faux glare.

Children. Honestly.

Still, it’s hard not to get sucked into the younger three’s enthusiastic mood. Today is the anniversary of their first mission together on the Bus, and really, considering the many hellish ordeals they’ve had to go through to get to today, it’s kind of a miracle they’re all here to celebrate at all. It’s no hardship to load his plate with gloriously greasy pizza, open a beer, and relax.

By the time all five of them are sprawled out, the room is filled with lively chatter. Jemma and Fitz are on one of the couches, telling Melinda about their recent adventures in babysitting Davis’ toddler. Phil himself has commandeered the ridiculously comfortable recliner, and Daisy is next to Melinda on the remaining sofa, looking between her mug and her plate in confusion. Phil can’t help but grin when he realizes what’s about to happen.

“How can you drink tea and eat pizza at the same time?” Daisy asks. “Doesn’t that taste gross?”

He must make some kind of triumphant noise, because Melinda glares at him. “It’s my superpower,” she tells Daisy.

“No, May, go ahead,” Phil says, all wide-eyed and innocent. “Please explain, because _I’ve_ been saying that for years and never gotten a real answer-”

“Tea goes with anything, though,” Fitz argues, and Jemma mentions a study she read once about how from a molecular gastronomy standpoint tea is more similar to wine than coffee because it can be effectively paired with different foods, and eventually he and Daisy are championing the clearly superior coffee against the united front of misguided tea drinkers, and all five of them have completely forgotten the pizza.

This is his family. They’ve been together from the start, all the way back when Daisy was still Skye with no powers and no parents, Fitz and Simmons barely knew how to hold a gun, Melinda was just the pilot, and he’d had two hands and no idea about T.A.H.I.T.I. It’s strange to think that Daisy, whose head is currently resting on Melinda’s shoulder, had absolutely hated Agent May for months.

Fitz, Daisy, and Jemma have moved on to bickering about pineapple on pizza, so they don’t notice when Melinda turns, reaching for something, and catches sight of him.

Phil knows he’s staring. The look on his face is probably disgustingly sentimental, too. But he can’t help it: the four people he loves most in the world are all together and happy in this room, and his two favourite women are curled up like the mother and daughter they technically aren’t. He’d have to be made of stone to do anything but melt at the sight.

Melinda’s eyes soften.

The room is full of laughter as they heckle their way through the traditional shitty action movie and groans when Daisy proposes a game of Truth or Dare. It’s exactly the kind of ridiculous, no-stress evening Phil so rarely gets even now. His limbs feel almost drugged with relaxation by the time the second movie’s credits roll and Fitz herds a barely-conscious Jemma back to their quarters.

Phil heaves himself out of the chair with some effort, stretching until his neck cracks. “I think I’m calling it a night too,” he says quietly. Daisy’s out cold with her head on Melinda’s lap, and he tilts his head in silent question.

“It’s fine,” Melinda murmurs, absently stroking Daisy’s hair.

“You’re sure?”

She nods.

He’s dreamed of moments like this: quiet and comfortable, with the lights dimmed just a little and those beautiful dark eyes looking up at him like he belongs here with her. It’s hard to believe he isn’t dreaming now.

It would be so easy to bend down and kiss her goodnight, soft and sweet and slow. She’d taste like pizza and they’d both smile into the kiss, happy to take their time, nothing left to deal with today and no one to interrupt them. He’d let his thumb trace the curve of her jaw just to revel in the feeling of her skin under his touch-

“Phil?”

He jolts back to reality. Melinda's fixing him with the kind of pointed stare that means it’s not the first time she’s tried to get his attention. Damn it - usually he’s better than this. He’d like to believe that lapse of concentration wasn’t too obvious, but judging by the way she's now looking at him like he’s gone insane, that’s probably wishful thinking.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he says. “Guess I must be more tired than I thought if I’m zoning out like that.”

Melinda nods slowly. “Guess so.”

Daisy mumbles incoherently into her leg. They freeze just in case they’ve inadvertently woken her up, but she just sprawls to take up more room on the couch with no sign of alertness. After a moment, Melinda goes back to petting Daisy’s hair.

Phil passes her a throw pillow just to make sure she’ll be as comfortable as possible. At their age, there’s no way she won’t be a bit sore after spending the night on the couch, but he knows Daisy falling asleep on her lap means more to Melinda than she’d ever admit and there’s no way she’d wake her up. Their fingers touch as he hands it over, which is unlikely enough that she has to have deliberately reached for him.

The thought keeps him feeling giddy long after their whispered goodnights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is an argument that has played out many times in my own family - I'm actually team tea myself, but for people who don't like the taste of tea in the first place (*cough* my sister) the idea of "swamp water" and pizza at the same time is apparently revolting. YMMV.


	3. I Forgot How Nice Romance Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melinda chooses Mack instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. It's been a while, huh? I had almost all of this fic written, but then canon happened and neatly destroyed several of the basic premises of what I had planned. It threw me for a loop, that's for sure, but I think I've got it mostly sorted now. We'll just pretend nothing happened to Fitz and Phil magically recovered, but other than that everything is as in canon. Enjoy!

Phil is not a morning person. In his years at S.H.I.E.L.D. he’s had to get used to some ridiculous sleep schedules (including one particularly hellish op in 2003 during which he didn’t get more than three consecutive hours of sleep for two weeks straight) but on his own he tends toward late nights and leisurely mornings. Unfortunately, he is still an active agent, even if he’s not the director anymore, and as such he’s showered, dressed, and staring blearily into the pantry at seven.

It’s honestly pretty bleak. No bread for toast, someone’s eaten the last of the good cereal - almost certainly Daisy - and as much as Jemma loves her oatmeal, he’s never been able to stomach the stuff. There’s plenty of coffee, though. A quick check of the fridge reveals some assorted fruits and vegetables and most of a carton of eggs, so at least he won’t be reduced to mainlining coffee until lunch.

The back of his neck prickles as he starts filling the coffee machine, though there hasn’t been any sound. In the field, this is where he’d start mentally reviewing sightlines, potential cover, and the available options for improvising a weapon. But it’s not an unknown assailant behind him this time. “Good morning,” he says, already knowing what he’ll see when he turns around.

Knowing, however, does not prepare him in the slightest for the sight of Melinda clearly fresh from a post-workout shower, because she’s one of those terrifying people who actually enjoys exercising first thing in the morning. Her ponytail is still faintly damp at the ends. It’s like a tease, the hint of where she’s been - he’s seen her totally soaked before (albeit clothed) more than once, and he knows exactly what it looks like when she pushes wet hair out of her eyes, and water is trailing down her throat, and her clothes don’t cover so much as _cling_ to her-

What was he doing? Oh, breakfast. Right. Fuel for the day. Phil’s good at breakfast.

“Pancakes?” he asks, internally congratulating himself on how normal his voice sounds. 

She makes a face. “Not after training. Omelettes instead?”

“Sounds good.”

They move around the kitchen with practiced ease. The whole song and dance is so familiar from safehouses and shared missions over the years that the only noise is the coffee machine dripping away and Melinda’s knife hitting the cutting board. It’s no accident that a plate appears at his side right when the first omelette is ready, and the clink of glasses and cutlery behind him as she sets the table for two has him smiling down at the skillet where she can’t see.

He takes a sip of his waiting coffee as he sits down across from Melinda. It’s perfect, of course. Phil used to wonder how she manages to add exactly the right amount of milk every single time when he’s literally never once seen her make coffee itself correctly, but then he realized he knows how to make her tea despite never drinking it, so maybe it’s just one of those things. If it means he can practically inhale glorious caffeine while he waits for his food to cool off in the morning, he’s not going to complain.

“This is nice,” Melinda says, already halfway through her plate.

Phil pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. “I sure hope so,” he says slowly. “I’ve made you omelettes hundreds of times. You’d think I’d know how you like them by now.”

“No, I meant…. this. Us. Breakfast together.” Her foot nudges against his under the table. “It’s nice.”

Phil can’t think of a single thing to say. Well, he _can,_ he’s practically the king of the snappy one-liner, but _“It’s even better in bed"_ is way too sleazy, and it’s _really_ not the right time for _“I love you”_ even if it is the loudest thought in his head right now. How does she _do_ this? Thirty years they’ve known each other and he’s still falling over himself at a simple comment from Melinda May like nothing has changed at all since the Academy.

“It is,” he says finally. “We should do it more often.”

“Does that mean you’re finally going to let me do something more complicated than making cereal?”

Phil shudders. “I’m pretty sure that qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment,” he points out, laughing when she flicks a piece of egg at him.

They make normal morning small talk - or at least the closest two people who have spent their lives working for S.H.I.E.L.D. can get to normal small talk - over the rest of breakfast. By the time both plates are clean and Phil’s finished his coffee, their feet have ended up tangled together under the table. 

It feels, he realizes with a jolt, like a date.

“Coulson?”

They both look up to see Mack coming through the door.

“Fitz wants to see you today. Hand recalibration time.”

“But Yoyo and I just did that a month ago,” Phil protests. It’s not like he _minds,_ exactly, since keeping the giant hunk of metal and electronics attached to his arm working properly is sort of a priority of his. Even so, it’s usually much longer between sessions.

Mack shrugs, grabbing a mug to pour his own coffee. “Don’t ask me,” he says. “I stick to engines and I’m happy that way. Maybe there’s some fancy new gadget he wants to install or something.”

Phil and Melinda exchange a look. Fitz has a habit of tinkering with prosthetic designs as a distraction when he’s frustrated with other projects. Phil really should be worried about spending his time in the lab instead of getting things done, but he can’t help the rush of childish glee. This kind of thing is how he got _x-ray hands._ It’s like being a real actual superhero.

Melinda’s expression says very clearly that he’s not hiding it well enough and she’s laughing at him on the inside.

“Don’t know what’s wrong with a hand just being a hand,” Mack grumbles, oblivious.

“It _was_ just a hand before you chopped it off,” Phil points out, laughing at the look on his former partner’s face. “Besides, I don’t remember you complaining too much about my gadgets when we got ambushed that time in Denver-”

“Shut up and get your hand fixed, Coulson.”

Melinda bats her eyelashes at him. “Director’s orders, Phil,” she says, all fawning solicitousness. Mack salutes her with his coffee and heads back out to the hallway with his nose already buried in his tablet.

“I can’t believe you’re taking his side,” Phil says, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Maybe I just like giving you orders for a change,” she says. Their eyes meet in silent recognition of what happened the last time she had, and for an long moment there is nothing in the world but the two of them and the memory of a kiss. But then her phone buzzes, startling them both, and she sighs in annoyance. “I have to meet with Piper in ten minutes. You should go find Fitz.”

“Maybe by this afternoon I’ll be able to play the piano,” he jokes. “I’ll see you later?”

“I don’t think you’ll want to,” she says. Phil frowns; he always wants to see her. Does she really- “Yoyo’s having a _Scream_ marathon.”

Phil does _not_ flinch. He’s a seasoned S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with decades of experience under his belt; a reaction like that would be deeply unprofessional. Besides, he’s faced real life horrors and lived to tell the tale. A few jumpscares are nothing. Really. He just… prefers other forms of entertainment.

(He thanks his lucky stars every day that Daisy hasn’t caught on yet.)

“A girls’ night it is. Got it.”

She’s been teasing him about this for so long that it’s become completely nonverbal; though the only sound in the room is the clatter of dishes as they clean up after themselves, Phil knows from long experience exactly what she’d say, and it only takes a single glance at her smug expression to confirm that she’s thinking exactly the same thing. Sticking his tongue out would be childish, of course, so he does the mature thing instead and reaches out to tug at the end of her ponytail.

But... he’s promised himself that he won’t touch. Admittedly this hadn’t really been what he’d had in mind at the time, but the principle is the same. Just because he can’t remember the last time he enjoyed breakfast so much doesn’t mean Melinda feels the same way. He never would have dared to pull her ponytail before, so he can’t in good conscience do so now, right?

Man, he feels like a twelve-year-old.

Still, Phil doesn’t like going back on his word, so he turns the movement into pretending to brush something off his shirt and beats a quick exit. Crisis averted.

He doesn’t notice Melinda’s frown as she watches him leave in the reflection of the microwave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh.


End file.
